Cycles
by dootamin
Summary: The world needs the Drifter one more time. The Jackal wakes him in a field of ruins, corpses, and violence. The place is different but the goal is the same. And he always completes the mission.


**YOU ARE NEEDED.**

**ONCE AGAIN, MAN HAS FAILED TO PROTECT HIMSELF.**

**WAKE UP, DRIFTER.**

* * *

A man with black hair lay on his back, hands over a gut shot. The Drifter stopped to say something, but no words would reach his ears anymore.

He pushed forwards, through the ruins of what had once been a road. Crumbled buildings flanked him on both sides, and the light in the distance illuminated only countless corpses. Human and monster and creature alike. Ships sailed through the air, locked in mortal combat.

A blue girl wearing a black suit of armor lay dead in a puddle of her own blood.

The Drifter clambered across a mound of corpses, riddled with bullet holes and strange electrical burns. His foot splattered through a softened skull, belonging to a blue monster. Another unholy union of flesh and steel. Another reason to keep moving forwards. Another reason to keep killing these things.

A strong man impaled on rebar, two hulking corpses beside him.

The Drifter ducked under their fire, the bullets fast by his standards but their movements slow and predictable. Just watch where the barrel went, duck there and don't flinch when the bullet goes by, swing the saber through the flesh _once, twice, thrice_. Blast the second with your pistol until it dies. He was running now, more forces screaming in the distance. Alone they were no match for him, but together they could win.

A silver mechanical woman, broken and silent. A communicator on her head still made noises though: Ee-Dee. Ee-Dee, say something, it said. Over and over, more and more desperate.

The saber was less elegant now, more furious. How dare they. It hacked flesh to pieces, carved bodies apart. Had they not learned? Why would they build the machines again? But for all their foolishness, the Drifter was there to save them, and this time was no different. Once, perhaps, he might have turned and run. But the Jackal had chosen him to act, and all was set aside for the cause.

A frail little girl, in a full body suit, hood and glass over her head.

Still alive? No, she wasn't moving. All that seemed wrong was a crack in her helmet's glass. The Drifter moved forwards, coming at last to a slope. The crackle of gunfire was close. A wounded soldier, clutching at what the Drifter could tell was a corpse even from so far away. They were so close, a mere twenty feet from the light, but could move no more.

He hurled a grenade and got to work. The monsters fell like dominoes, landing a few blows but not enough. He was a whirlwind of speed and hate. The saber was death come calling, and each and every one of those monsters answered. The battle was over in seconds, but it had not been fast enough.

Blue blood pooled, mixed with the red of his companion.

"Hey," he said. "Didn't think we'd be getting cavalry. Little late, though."

The Drifter nodded, looking at the red-haired woman beside him.

"Listen… you can make this worth it."

He looked at the soldier curiously, head cocked. How could all this death be worth anything?

"The light… it'll take you to the Crucible. There's a sequence you have to start. It'll kill all these fuckers and we'll... have won."

At that the Drifter nodded seriously. A killswitch, a superweapon, it didn't matter. The Titans would be stopped. Countless had already died, and the Drifter would not let that go to waste.

The soldier coughed hard then, blood splattering the ground in front of him. He was wracked by violent spasms. The Drifter clutched the soldier's talons in a firm handshake. The death throes soon faded, and the soldier's head fell limply to the side.

His death would not be in vain. The Drifter stood, cloak fluttering in the howling winds. He stepped past them through the rubble and scorched trees. Towards the glowing beam. Towards hope, in the face of death and adversity.

As he got closer, darkness touched the corners of his vision, but he persevered. Whispers and screams echoed, but he persevered, reaching out for the light even as it _burned_ him, his armor, his pistol to dust-

-and then he collapsed, on hard metal in a room illuminated by crimson light. The Drifter staggered to his feet, one arm burned past usefulness. It was his turn to cough up blood, but he advanced, saber in hand. A monster dared to oppose him.

He stepped past its steaming corpse, exploring the rooms of corpses until he found the exit. The new room was massive, with three great generators. It looked out onto stars, and a planet far below. The Drifter had learned to stop wondering about _how_ he ended up in strange places and focus on _why_.

"Hey," a weak voice called. The Drifter saw a dark skinned soldier, dying by the window. "Shepard didn't make it?"

The Drifter shook his head. Nobody had made it but him, and even then only barely. His body was recovering, at least. The same could not be said for the countless soldiers on that planet.

"Damn. I- I never wanted to outlive her," the old man said, for now the Drifter could see that he was indeed old, "She was… like my daughter. Always wanted to tell her that. Hah."

And he, too, would be gone soon. The Drifter left him to die in peace, finding instead the center of the room. Sequence? What did-

A black form congealed in front of him.

The Drifter activated his saber, flying at it. He did not need to hear or see anything more to know what it was. It charged him, but he ducked past it, a blur of pink energy. He lashed out across its back with the saber, and was rewarded with being clipped by one bullet of a storm. Immediately after, a beam lanced out.

The Drifter rolled to the side, skidding along the smooth metal. Wind began to howl as the fight cracked the bubble it took place in. But he pushed on. He charged again, heedless of Judgement's own counter charge, burying the saber to the hilt. It swiped him, sending him flying. In the air, the Drifter hurled a grenade, destroying a chunk of its body.

It replied by closing the distance like lightning, hitting him hard, smashing his back against the floor. The Drifter saw his blood spurt out of his mouth, tasted copper. He rolled to the side weakly, avoiding the follow up punch. Off balance, he tried another attack, but the saber was slapped out of his hand.

**Fool.**

He fell back hard, the voice ringing in his head like that of an angry god. The howling wind and diminishing atmosphere did nothing to quiet its sound. But he did not stop.

**Your struggle is pointless.**

It swiped again, but the Drifter dodged under it, past it. The blue of the saber's hilt shimmered, and he dashed, steps perfectly synced with the phasing of his dodge apparatus.

**They made them before, they will make them again, an infinite cycle of despair.**

The Drifter scooped up the saber as he ducked a storm of bullets, but could not avoid the beam. It struck his chest, driving past the armor to eat away the soft flesh beneath. He gasped, collapsing weakly.

**You will fight a losing battle until the end of time.**

He was alive, barely. One arm got under him, pushed, as darkness crept into his vision again. It was getting hard to breathe, and he could hear Judgement approaching from behind.

**The cycle is doomed to repeat with infinite lives falling to our hands.**

He lifted his head, watching a cuttlefish-like titan slice apart a beautiful black and white ship with its beam. Dozens more dead, at least. The Drifter felt that familiar fire of hate build in his body even as strength left it, and the saber glowed with power.

**At every turn, every step, you will lose, again and again until your spirit is broken.**

Judgement picked him up from behind, spinning his body to face its eye. The very material it was made of burned at the Drifter.

**You change nothing.**

The saber released its pent up energy as the Drifter swiped out with the last of his fading breath, halving Judgement's eye. It dropped him, staggered back. Black lightning crackled, scorched the walls and floor. It scorched his body, wracking it with pain.

And then he was in front of the three generators again. Soft blue, green, and read light emanated from each. There was no break in the glass, no rush of oxygen. The Jackal watched, before standing and walking towards the red generator.

The Drifter knew exactly what had to be done.

He approached the red generator, saber in hand. It was filled with glowing power, and when he lashed out at it, that same power washed over him.


End file.
